Twilight
by Scribbles-Dementia
Summary: Morrighan Grosvenor; a Soul Reaper on the hunt. Tyler Simms; an unsuspecting Son of Ipswich. 'I promise...This will not end well.' -ON HIATUS-
1. Prologue: The Devil's Pact

_Morrighan Grosvenor; a Soul Reaper on the hunt. Tyler Simms; an unsuspecting Son of Ipswich. 'I promise…This will not end well.'_

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**A/N: According to The Covenant canon, the Sons of Ipswich, Chase Collins and their respective fathers, are the only living warlocks in the world. This will not be the case in my story.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Pastel Shades.**

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**DISCLAIMER: Don't own the Sons. But I do own the idea/this version of a Soul Reaper. So please…DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Rated 'M' for excessive swearing, character death (none of the Sons, don't worry), SICK characters and possible blood and gore in future chapters.**

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_Twilight_

A Tyler Simms Romance

_By Scribbles-Dementia_

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Diabolus Pactum

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The bitch was supposed to be an easy lay. She had sauntered into the office not five days ago, temping for that snotty redhead on pregnancy leave. Blonde haired, blue eyed, and with a dizzy smile constantly plastered on her face, she was every man's wet dream.

He hadn't even had to 'charm' her like he did some of the other girls. She was the one who had suggested a weekend in the mountains and, obviously not thinking with his head, he had said yes.

And now he was running through the God forsaken bush, down the mountainside.

_Damn broad._

She had got him all hot and bothered too with that sexy strip tease. He was definitely _not_ looking at her face when she shimmied up to him on the bed, rubbing that curvy body of hers against all the right places. She had brought her head down for a kiss, one he was fully expecting to involve a lot of tongue and spit swapping, and he was busy working that slutty little red lace bra off. And then he decided to look up.

_You lucky bastard. Now let's get off this fucking mountain in one piece, eh?_

He hadn't known black could glow like that. Looking into her eyes was like looking into eternity – an eternity of nothingness. And despair. He was sure what he had seen in her eyes would involve a lot of despair.

He had pushed her off then and ran.

The soles of his feet were all cut up and bloody and it was a cold night, made even colder by his lack of clothes. He had attempted a Heating spell but his fingers had stumbled over the runes and he had ended up setting fire to a tree instead. It was a blazing beacon that screamed 'Here I am! Come and get me!' And he had to run again.

He'd heard of them before. _Soul Reapers_ others called them – creatures who fed off the souls of witches and warlocks. He had brushed off the stories; urban legends he thought.

_Stupid idiot!_

Stumbling into a clearing, he tried to orientate himself. He knew there was a highway towards the east leading back into town and the Southern Cross was just over there to his right so if he went this way…

It was then that he noticed the girl.

"Hey…Hey you! Girl! You have a cell phone on you I could borrow?"

She turned sharply, seemingly startled by his voice suddenly coming out of the quiet night.

"Yeah sure," the teen replied with a tinge of an accent in her voice, walking closer, hands deep in the pockets of her long black coat. "You know, you shouldn't be out here so late. Never know who you'll run into."

"Don't I know that, kid," he laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. "In fact, you should probably be getting outta here too. There's this crazy skank bitch after me. You live around here?"

She shook her head.

"Nah. Just here on a job."

"Job?" He frowned. She sure was taking her own sweet time producing that cell phone and damn if that coat didn't look warm. He wondered if she would let him borrow it.

She was standing right in front of him now. He towered a good foot above her and he wasn't even considered that tall. She smiled up at him; peering out from behind dark curly lashes with eyes the impossible colour of fresh periwinkle.

"Yeah…You."

"What the…"

And then her hand was clamped around his throat, lifting him bodily high above her head. Her smile had turned into a feral grin and her eyes were glowing that same terrifying black he had seen not too long ago.

_Fuck…_

She was ridiculously strong for such a puny teenager. Cursing her to hell and back in his head, he tried to summon the power to throw her off of him. An Earth Shifting spell came to mind but is was hard imagining the runes he needed with the girl cutting off blood circulation to his head.

The ground trembled beneath them and a chunk of dirt and rock rose up to meet his feet, relieving the pressure around his neck, and then rose even higher so that she had to let go of him. It wasn't quite what he had in mind, but it would do. Glaring down at her, he worked on forming an energy ball to blast her back to the ninth level of Hades.

But the girl seemed more amused than intimidated.

"Come on," she taunted, taking a few steps back, making it easier for him to hit her from his elevated vantage point. "Give me your best shot."

If her aim was to piss him off, she was doing a great job of it.

He was sure that by then he'd accumulated enough energy to kill an elephant ten times over. The little shit was going to get hers now.

His grin was vicious enough to rival hers yet still she seemed tickled by the entire situation. He growled and heaved the large ball of energy at her.

_Take that!_

And took it she did. She caught it in her hands and then – absorbed all the power into herself.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUUUUUUUCK!_

"Hasn't anyone ever told you," she drawled, "that my kind, are immune to such magic?"

He really should have paid more attention to those 'urban legends'.

She smirked.

"My turn."

Effortlessly leaping up at him, she tackled him back to the ground, tucking into a roll and gracefully coming back up on her feet. He lay still for a moment, winded. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnied.

"We'll have to speed this up," she said, more to herself than him, cocking her head.

He pushed himself off the ground only to find her hand once again circled painfully around his throat. This time, she pulled him up until he was at eye level with her and then those black orbs trailed down to linger on his lips.

"I bet you taste good." Her words came out hoarse and lusty.

She brought her face closer, stopping just short of touching him. He had thought she was going to kiss him. But then she opened her mouth. And he gasped.

It hurt. Bloody fucking shit did it hurt!

He felt it start at his toes. And then it rose up, curling through his gut and up his throat and –

The man was already growing cold when she unceremoniously dropped him. Pulling a dark glass bottle out from one of her pockets, she uncorked it, held it to her lips and breathed into it, watching with delight as it started to glow an eerie red before she resealed it.

A loud angry neighing heralded the arrival of another presence in the clearing. The man was extremely tall, deathly pale and dressed in black as she was. He did not seem surprised to find the girl there nor did he seem affected by the presence of a half naked greying corpse.

"Haven't I told you not to play with your food?"

Her grin could only have been described as impish.

"Relax, Theon. Or I just might change my mind about sharing." She held up the glowing bottle and gave it a little shake. "This one actually tastes quite good."

"Of course he would," scoffed Theon. "I always choose our marks carefully. Six unreported rapes before he found the runes for an extremely powerful aphrodisiac spell."

"Mmm," she purred. "Imagine how much tastier he would've been if he'd killed someone too. By the way, where's Artemisia?"

"She'd be around someplace." A twig snapped somewhere to their right. "Speak of the devil."

A busty blonde emerged from out of the darkness, the moon's rays reflecting off bare patches of skin. She too noticed the body on the ground at their feet but her reaction was not quite as calm as Theon's had been.

"Damn it, Morrighan! He was mine!"

The woman stalked towards the pair, ignoring the fact that her breasts were in danger of popping out of her bra held up by only one strap, the other having slipped down her shoulder. With a disgusted huff, she kicked the corpse angrily and turned smouldering eyes on the youngest Soul Reaper. Morrighan shrugged.

"Yeah…he was." She licked her lips. "But you let him get away."

"Making him fair game," added Theon, ever the mediator between the two females.

"I just wanted to play with him a bit," the woman pouted.

Morrighan laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh.

"Bet you lured him in with your 'innocent-little-girl-lost-in-the-outback' act," sulked the woman. "You suck."

"Bush. Not outback. Calm down, Arty." The girl was smiling lazily now. She carelessly tossed the bottle to the woman. "Here. Have first taste."

"It's not really first taste when you've already been at him," the older female complained but she removed the stopper from the neck of the bottle anyway. Bringing the glowing vessel to her lips, Artemisia inhaled deeply, her eyes rolling to the back of her head in delicious satisfaction.

"Hey, leave some for Theon," scolded Morrighan, her voice laced with amusement.

Reluctantly, Artemisia tossed the bottle to the man who caught it deftly. Unlike his female companions, he went about his meal in a more refined manner, whipping out a white handkerchief and dabbing at the corners of his mouth when he was done.

"Ever the gentleman," snorted Artemisia.

"You would do well to learn some female decorum," said Theon languidly, sparing a brief glance at her scantily clothed body.

Artemisia waved a hand dismissively.

"Clothes are overrated. And besides, it's not like we actually _need_ them, seeing as how we never feel the cold – or warmth for that matter. And I'm sure other people really wouldn't mind."

"She's got a point there," agreed Morrighan.

"Thanks pipsqueak."

The girl rolled her eyes. And then she felt Theon's sudden stillness next to her. Every muscle tensed and all her senses jumped to attention in reply.

"Do you feel that?"

He scanned the darkened wood with narrowed eyes. Artemisia tilted her head back, stuck her nose in the air and gave it a few cautious sniffs. She too tensed immediately and shot Morrighan a meaningful look. The girl reached an arm into her coat.

"There'll be no need for that."

A body, if one could even call it that, soon followed the new voice. It may have once been good looking, handsome even, as evidenced by what remained of its face. But all that was left of it now was bile inducing. Tufts of brown hair sprouted from its skull in the places where skin still clung to flesh. The entire left side of its head, half its nose and what was possibly once its mouth had melted, leaving a mess of pus and rotten tissue; the white of its bones peeking out in places where the flesh had been completely eaten away. Its left eye was almost completely hidden under what had been its forehead, but its right eye peered out at them; bright, blue and alert, from the intact, young looking half of its face. Its body was clothed but, judging by the state of its hands that stuck out of its jacket sleeves, it was probably safe to assume that the rest of it was similarly disfigured.

Theon growled.

"Warlock," Artemisia hissed.

"Tainted," Morrighan muttered to herself. "Really bad dark magic."

"Evening," the creature said calmly, coming to a stop just out of arm's reach.

"You obviously have a death wish, Warlock," drawled Artemisia, managing to look quite threatening even in her underwear. The creature let its good eye roam over the woman appreciatively. Her eyes hardened. "One I'll be more than willing to grant."

"Oh, feisty." And then it turned to Theon, ignoring her and Morrighan completely. "I have a proposal for you and your team. Quite an attractive one, I believe."

Artemisia sent a lazy glance in Morrighan's direction.

"I vote we just eat it now."

Morrighan quirked an amused brow, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"In its current state, it'll probably just give you a bad stomach ache, Arty. And besides, with that much black magic pumped into it, I doubt it even has a soul worth salvaging."

"I hate it when they sell their souls to the old fart," complained Artemisia.

"You mean Belle?" asked Morrighan, though the girl knew full well whom Artemisia was talking about.

"Beelzebub, kid. No need to be rude with the name calling," chided the older Soul Reaper, conveniently forgetting her own rudeness mere seconds before. And then she continued speaking as if the little tangent never occurred. "It's such a waste of good food."

Theon, ever the one to think before he leapt, gave the warlock a hard look.

"Speak!" he ordered in a low dangerous voice. "Before I let them at you."

Morrighan shot the former warlock a feral grin. It may not be good for eating but it could still provide a little entertainment along the Senseless Bloodletting line.

"I'd like to procure your services," said the creature simply.

"Now that's just completely unorthodox!" Artemisia protested before it could get any further. "We hunt your kind. It's just not right for you to come seek us out like this."

"She's afraid it'll ruin her reputation, you see," explained Morrighan, knowing she and Artemisia were being complete asses but she didn't care.

Theon simply ignored them like he was prone to when things became ridiculous.

"What do you offer us in return for our _services_?"

"The Sons of Ipswich."

That got their attention.

"Well, two of them," the creature amended.

"Ipswich? The original witches of the New World?" Artemisia's eyes gleamed greedily at the thought of the succulent feast of the senses just _one_ of their souls would provide, like the rarest of delicacies offered to someone who'd only ever eaten mouldy bread their entire lives. It wouldn't even matter if the worst thing they'd ever done in their life was jaywalk because power that old was just plain delicious, like old wine getting better with age.

"All I want are the souls of those who've Ascended; one Caleb Danvers and, in a few days time, Pogue Parry. You can share the other two between the three of you."

"I vote we take the job," Artemisia piped up, now feeling a whole lot more cordial towards the creature.

Morrighan rolled her eyes. Theon regarded her with a thoughtful look.

"What do you think, Morrighan?"

The young Soul Reaper's face was now serious as she cast the creature a suspicious look.

"Why do you need our help? Can't you go after them on your own?"

"I've tried. With some rather unfortunate results, I'm afraid," it admitted.

"They kicked your butt, huh?" smirked Morrighan.

"Obviously," Artemisia snorted.

The creature that was once a warlock was not amused.

"Danvers was willed his father's powers just after he Ascended," it explained, though it came out sounding more like an excuse for his failure.

"What do you need their souls for?" asked Morrighan, still wary of the unusual request. Artemisia was right; witches and warlocks did not come to them for help. It was against the natural state of things.

"Does it matter?" the creature countered.

"And do you really trust us not to keep them for ourselves once we catch them?"

"Not really," the creature laughed, "But let's just say I'll be checking up on you."

"How did you find us anyway?" asked Artemisia, looking suddenly quite perplexed.

"I have my ways," it said cryptically.

"Fine. Be all secretive," the woman mumbled grumpily.

"So what do you think?" Theon finally asked, looking to his two female companions. Artemisia's grin was answer enough. She turned to Morrighan.

"Pipsqueak?"

Morrighan lifted a careless shoulder.

"Why not? It's been a while since we've been across the puddle. And I'm sure Arty misses home."

"The Pacific Ocean is hardly a puddle, kid," said Artemisia in clear amusement. "And Massachusetts is nowhere near Louisiana."

"So my U.S. Geography's a little rusty," said Morrighan with another shrug and an indolent smile.

Having his answer, Theon turned back to the creature they were now working for.

"Just how are we to get to these boys? There are others of our kind who've tried finding them before and rumours have started circulating in some circles that the families of Ipswich are protected by all sorts of anti-detection spells."

The creature smiled, or grimaced. It was hard to tell.

"They are. Unless you know where to look, you'll probably never find them."

"And where _do_ we start looking?" cut in Artemisia. But the creature did not seem to mind her interruption. Its good eye had taken on the look of a conspirer and this time it wasn't too hard to guess that it was grinning like a hungry wolf.

"Spenser Academy; elitist school for rich elitist bastards."

Morrighan snorted. Figures.

"And how will we recognise them?" she asked.

"You'll know when you see them," the creature simply said.

"And what shall we call our new employer?" Theon added. "Or would you rather we address you as 'Mister It'?"

This seemed to remind the creature that he had hardly any discernable features left. The look in his eye turned dark and Morrighan was certain the last encounter it had with the Sons of Ipswich was still a very fresh, and very sore, memory.

"Chase Collins."

"Well then Mister Collins." Theon dipped his respectfully, though Morrighan suspected it might have been a sarcastic gesture. "We look forward to our next meeting in the good U. S. of A."

"And I look forward to seeing your progress," Chase Collins countered. He turned to Artemisia. "You may want to put on some clothes. Not that I mind but I'd rather you not draw attention to yourselves." He spared Morrighan only a curt nod, and then he turned and disappeared into the bush the same way he had appeared.

The youngest Soul Reaper turned to Theon then. As the oldest amongst them, he had always been their unspoken leader and so she tried not to question his decision in matters. Theon had a cool head on his shoulders and was painfully rational, making him a sharp and dangerous mind to deal with. But Morrighan was curious.

"Are we really going to hand over the Sons of Ipswich to _that_ thing?"

They may now be working for 'Mister Collins' but he was still a warlock, and a corrupted one at that. Morrighan didn't have to like it and though Theon would try to be respectful as was his gentlemanly nature, she couldn't bring herself to give a damn. Theon seemed to think carefully on the question before he answered.

"We'll see. I have my suspicions as to what a half-dead warlock would do with souls infused with so much magic. And if I'm right," his lips curled into a grin to rival the devil's very own, "we just might come out of this with more than two souls."

Morrighan smirked. Now this was more like it!

"Well, what are we still waiting around here for?" Artemisia exclaimed, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

Theon smiled at her, like a father amused at the antics of an excited child. He then threw his head back, emitting a cry that was raw, animalistic – _unnatural_. Artemisia followed suit, and then Morrighan. As soon as the last cry died away, there came the sound of thundering hooves. Three black beasts resembling horses galloped into the clearing, coming sharply to a stop in front of their masters. Smoke that smelled strongly of brimstone rose from their nostrils and their eyes glowed redder than coals from the hottest furnaces. Morrighan reached out to run her hand through her animal's mane affectionately.

"We're going on a little trip, love love."

Artemisia laughed as she hoisted herself into her saddle.

"You're going to spoil that thing one day," the woman warned. She made quite an interesting picture; still dressed in her red lingerie and astride a smoking black fiend.

"He's not a thing," retorted Morrighan, indignantly, before returning her attention to the animal, cooing, "Are you?" The creature tossed its head in reply, and then bent its front legs to allow Morrighan to mount it.

"Morrighan's not spoiling him. Just instilling a sense of loyalty," said Theon, already atop his steed, cutting Artemisia off just as she opened her mouth again. "It's a good trait."

Artemisia shook her head good-naturedly, too excited to squabble with the girl.

"You know, Theon," she started as they turned in the direction of the eastern Australian coast. "The hell beasts are nice and all, very traditional, but it wouldn't hurt to catch up with the rest of the 21st century. Invest in a private jet, maybe a few sports cars. Much more comfortable, wouldn't you say?"

Morrighan smiled in anticipation of the one-sided argument. It was an ongoing thing between the two. Artemisia would suggest upgrades that she insisted would make their jobs easier whilst Theon would counter saying they really had no need of them. So far, he had only conceded to allowing cell phones and even that had been done reluctantly. Morrighan didn't mind. She couldn't understand sometimes why humans needed so many things. But it was entertaining to let them both think she was on their side and so she kept silent during these interchanges.

They rode away, Artemisia still championing the merits of modern technology, shouting to be heard over the galloping hooves, leaving the remains of that evening's meal still lying in the middle of the clearing. None of them were too worried about the police or anyone else finding the body.

By morning, the dingoes would have taken care of that.

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**So what do you guys think?**

**- Scribbles**


	2. Chapter I: Misery Loves Company

**A/N: I referred to the movie's cast list on IMDB for the spelling of names and found that, even on what should have been a reliable source, they varied constantly. I went with the spelling I preferred. Also, I scanned through the movie but couldn't pick out the names of their lecturers or their swim coach. So I just went with whatever's on the cast list.**

**Special thanks goes out to **Lovelinelivelong639** and **Pola** for their reviews**

**Beta'd by the wonderful Pastel Shades. Any mistakes are purely my own.**

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**DISCLAIMER: Don't own the Sons. But I do own the idea/this version of a Soul Reaper. So please…DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Rated 'M' for excessive swearing, character death (none of the Sons, don't worry), SICK characters and possible blood and gore in future chapters.**

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_Twilight_

A Tyler Simms Romance

_By Scribbles-Dementia_

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Miseria Comitem Exoptat

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Rain poured down on the grounds of Spenser Academy, confining most of its students to their dorm rooms. In the pool area, swim practice was underway.

"Garwin! You better move your ass and get in the water _now_! You can flirt with Abbot on your own time! Now _move it_!"

"Aye aye, Coach," drawled Reid Garwin as he shot Aaron Abbot one last taunting grin, jumping back out of arm's range as the other boy lunged at him.

At the far end of the pool, Caleb Danvers looked on disapprovingly. Reid was just asking for a beating. A loud splash followed the sound of a shrill whistle as the swimmers, lined up on the starting blocks, dived into the water at the same time.

"Is it just me or is Reid swimming a little faster than usual?" Pogue Parry asked as he walked up to his best friend, a lazy smile on his face.

'A little' was an understatement. Reid was at least a full body's length ahead of the other swimmers. Caleb's frown deepened. Pogue laughed.

"Chill out, dude. It's not like it's going to hurt him. Yet."

Reid reached the end of the pool and turned back twenty-five seconds before the closest swimmer.

"He's close enough to addicted as it is," growled Caleb, his eyes trained on Reid. "If he keeps on Using, he won't be able to stop once he Ascends." He let out a frustrated sigh before letting his eyes slip to his best friend. "So, how are you?"

Pogue smiled lopsidedly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Honestly, I don't know how you do it, man. All this power…" He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. He seemed to be considering something. And then he shrugged. "You're a saint, man."

Caleb laughed.

"Only when compared to you guys."

They watched as Reid climbed out of the pool, paused only to push Abbot back in, and turned to catch the towel thrown to him from the bleachers by his latest fuck toy; a squeaky blonde with a rack that must have cost her daddy a small fortune. A self-satisfied smirk spread across the boy's face as he made his way towards them.

"Why do you even bother coming to practice if you're going to cheat anyway?" reprimanded Caleb. Reid's smirk faltered, his eyes growing darker.

"You know, I ask myself the same thing everyday." Caleb remained unimpressed. "Lighten up!" Reid growled.

Pogue watched on, warily, as two of his closest friends stared each other down, fire burning behind their eyes. He was debating whether or not to intervene when Caleb sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair.

"We can't afford to be fighting amongst ourselves," the older boy said tiredly. "Not after Chase."

Reid exhaled harshly.

"We know! You think we don't remember how you almost died? Fuck it, Caleb!"

The corners of Caleb's lips quirked upwards briefly.

"Didn't know you cared."

"Shut up," muttered the blonde as he shoved Caleb lightly.

A whistle sounded from the other side of the pool.

"Danvers! Parry! You're up!" shouted Coach Hamm, his voice carrying clearly across the water. The man seemed to notice something odd then, and made his way over to the boys. He eyed Reid suspiciously before turning his gaze upon Caleb and Pogue. "Aren't there usually four of you? Where's Simms?"

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Morrighan hated humans. Especially adolescent humans; they were everywhere and never failed to annoy her. The young Soul Reaper had argued long and hard, but Theon was adamant that she was the only one who would fit in at Spenser Academy. She was the only one amongst them who would make a believable teenager. Somehow, Morrighan didn't see how being close to over a millennia older than everyone else in the academy made her the most suitable candidate to pose as a student.

The weather matched her mood. The dark haired girl cracked her knuckles, a bad habit she had developed over the years that never failed to irritate Theon. She was waiting at Ipswich Station having been dropped off by Artemisia over four hours ago. According to the cover story they had fed the school she was supposed to have come in on the 10 o'clock train and someone from the academy was supposed to be picking her up. But so far the only people who had approached her were two different railroad employees and one security guard, all asking if she needed help. Morrighan scowled as a woman in the uniform of the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority walked up to her.

"Excuse me miss – "

"I'm waiting for someone," Morrighan snapped, cutting her off. The woman started, not having expected such a hostile response. She nodded slowly, unsure of what to make of the girl when she suddenly realised that she was shivering. Her gut was churning and her bladder suddenly felt like it was about to burst. Her eyes widened. She didn't know why but something in her base instincts told her to get as far away from the teenager as she could.

Morrighan smirked as the woman hurried away from her. Theon wouldn't be happy to know she was playing with humans, especially with the Sons of Ipswich so close, but she was bored and ill tempered. She cracked her knuckles again, wondering how much it would cost her to just take a taxi to the academy, when she felt it.

It started as a slight tickle at the base of her spine, travelling up her back and growing in intensity. Her fingers and toes started to tingle and she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to prevent from gasping out. Her head whipped towards the entrance of the station, sensing the strong magical presence approaching it, hardly daring to hope that it was whom she thought it was. A boy in his late teens ran through the doors, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. His eyes scanned the station finally landing on her. Morrighan felt like someone had punched her in the gut then, signalling the lifting of the anti-detection spells that protected him from her kind, and struggled to keep her face blank. The boy approached her hesitantly.

"Um…are you Morrighan Grosvenor?"

The Soul Reaper nodded, not trusting herself to speak. What bloody dumb luck – of all the insignificant teens they could have picked from Spenser's student body, they had sent a Son to fetch her! It had been centuries since Morrighan was near a magical being that emanated so much pure power and it took all her self-control not to launch herself at the boy. The teenage warlock smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry I'm late. Misread the train schedule and thought you were arriving on a later train. Traffic was murder too and I had to circle the station five times before I found a parking space." As if realising that he was rambling, the boy smiled again and held out his hand. "I'm Tyler Simms by the way."

Morrighan stared at his outstretched hand. The warlock – Tyler – looked at her expectantly. But with each second that passed, his smile started to fade. Seeing this, Morrighan plastered what she hoped was a friendly grin on her face and forced herself to shake his hand. Having grown used to being immune to lesser magic, Morrighan was unprepared for the onslaught of ancient power that threatened to overtake her the moment she touched him. His smile returned in full force.

"I…um…forgot to bring an umbrella. So we'll have to run out to my car. Hope you don't mind getting wet."

Morrighan shook her head to clear it, knowing full well how Tyler would read her actions. She watched as he slung her duffle bag over his shoulder and started to wheel her other suitcase towards the exit. This time it was she who hesitated before following him.

The two seemingly normal teens dashed out into the rain towards a black Hummer. Neither the rain nor the wind affected Morrighan though she noticed how Tyler shivered as he climbed into the driver's seat of the vehicle. She kept her eyes on him as she reached out to turn up the heater. It would have been so easy to simply take the warlock there and then. But Theon had given specific orders that she was to wait until all four Sons of Ipswich had been identified. He wanted to Reap them all in one fell swoop. That way none of them could get away. Tyler shot her a thankful grin as he started the car.

It was a long ride to Spenser Academy. Morrighan kept silent, unsure of what topics a regular teenage girl of the twenty first century would talk about. Again she questioned her suitability for the role she had been assigned. She watched as Tyler drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, tapping out a beat only he could hear. His eyes darted to her every now and then and Morrighan could tell that he was growing uncomfortable with the long silence.

Tyler Simms was not what she had expected. He looked just like any other human being and if it had not been for the magic she could feel radiating from him Morrighan would never have looked twice at the boy if she'd passed him on the street. She supposed the warlock could be considered attractive; with his dark hair and blue eyes, Tyler would make any hot-blooded girl swoon. But Morrighan was hardly hot-blooded. She wondered if the other Sons would be the same and, not for the first time, she wondered how she was to pick them out of the crowd at Spenser.

The young warlock tried to start a conversation more than once during their journey. Yet none of his attempts lasted more than a few exchanges, for Morrighan really had no answers to questions like 'What's your favourite band?' or 'So…you're not an Edward Cullen fan, are you?'.

"Hope you don't mind me asking," Tyler began after a particularly awkward silence. "But you don't really sound American. And Provost Higgins kind of told me that you'd transferred from a school in Australia. But your accent isn't really Australian either."

Morrighan stared at the boy. Tyler flashed her a friendly smile, as if encouraging her to reply.

"No it isn't. Mum's the Yank," she lied, feeding him the cover story Theon had created for her. "Dad's from Ireland and that's where I grew up."

"Which explains the accent."

"Yup. And Australia's just one of the many countries my Dad's been assigned to. He works for this big oil co-operation."

"Where else have you lived?" asked Tyler, genuine curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

Morrighan thought back on the numerous places she had been to in the past and decided it couldn't hurt to name a few. She smiled absentmindedly as she recalled some of the memories linked to each city.

"Paris, Munich, Venice, St. Petersburg, Shanghai, Tokyo, Auckland, Sydney…"

"Wow," said Tyler after a while. "And after all that, you've gotta live in boring, old Ipswich. Man, that kinda…sucks."

The young Soul Reaper surprised herself by laughing at that. Her eyes slid across to Tyler, noting that he looked pleased at having made her laugh. Morrighan smiled as a thought occurred to her then – the boy was absurdly friendly; too trusting for his own good. Maybe impersonating a teenager wasn't that impossible after all. Maybe, just maybe, this could actually work. Now she simply needed to get close to the remaining Sons of Ipswich.

Morrighan snorted.

There was nothing simple about that.

* * *

Morrighan looked up at the brick faced entrance to Spenser Academy, struggling to keep from scowling. The building seemed to taunt her, reminding her of the large number of humans she would have to face behind its doors, and she was not looking forward to it. The slamming of the Hummer's driver's side door snapped her out of her disgruntled musings. Tyler was already retrieving her bags. Making a mental note to make life difficult for Theon and Artemisia when she next saw them, Morrighan climbed out of the vehicle and up the steps of her new home for the next few days. She sincerely hoped she would not have to stay longer.

The walk up to the dorms was far from quiet. Students filled the halls, calling out greetings to Tyler as they passed. The slight feeling of claustrophobia Morrighan felt upon entering the academy was slowly forgotten as she realised just how popular Tyler was. It amused her how his power called out to mortals as well; drawing people to him like magnets. Her sour mood began to lift; identifying the other Sons shouldn't be too hard.

They had reached the level of the female dormitories. Tyler paused to withdraw a crumpled piece of paper from his jeans pocket, consulted it briefly, and then turned an apologetic face towards Morrighan.

"You're rooming with Kira Snider. She's kind of a bitch."

Morrighan shrugged.

"Trust me. I can handle her."

Tyler seemed to give her an assessing look before he nodded, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. They were halfway down the hall when Tyler stopped in front of a door. Morrighan stepped past him to knock on it, seeing how his hands were preoccupied with her luggage. They did not have long to wait before a sleepy-eyed redhead wrapped in a bed sheet answered the door. A distinctly male moan came from inside the room, calling her back to bed. Morrighan arched a brow.

"Nice," she muttered.

The redhead shot her a dismissive glance before turning to address Tyler.

"What do you want?"

"Always so pleasant, Snider," said Tyler, who, though seemingly unaffected by her gruff greeting, was missing his usual easygoing smile. He pushed past her and dropped Morrighan's bags at the foot the remaining unoccupied bed in the room. "Kira, meet Morrighan Grosvenor. Morrighan, meet Kira Snider."

"Ok," said Kira, leaning against the doorframe, eyeing Morrighan who still stood on the other side of the door. "And this matters to me because?"

"She's your new roommate."

"Oh yeah?" Kira drawled, seeming to regard Morrighan in a new light. The dark haired girl considered attempting a smile but decided the human wasn't worth it.

"Hi," Morrighan said dryly.

"Well, we'd love to stay but we've got places to go; people to see," said Tyler, wrapping his hand around Morrighan's wrist as he exited the room, leading her back the way they had come.

"I guess I'll see you later," Kira called after them, though her tone of voice belied her seemingly amiable choice of words.

Morrighan allowed Tyler to pull her down three flights of stairs and a hallway before she asked him where they were going.

"Oh. Right. The Provost wanted to see you."

"Um. Ok. But could I have my hand back?"

Tyler blushed, releasing Morrighan's wrist immediately, turning around to face her as they came to a stop.

"Sorry."

They had reached an open set of double doors through which Morrighan could see a middle-aged blonde woman dwarfed behind a large oak desk. The entire room beyond the doors gave off an air of authority and suppression. Even if Tyler had not personally escorted her there, Morrighan felt that it would have been hard for her to miss the offices of Provost Higgins.

"Well…I guess I'll leave you to it then. Um…you'll be able to find your way back to your dorm room, right?"

Morrighan nodded.

"Yeah." And then as an afterthought, "Thank you."

Those two simple words seemed to relieve whatever awkwardness it was Tyler appeared to be experiencing at leaving her on her own, bringing a bright smile to his face – just as she knew it would.

"Oh it was no problem. I'll see you around. Maybe we'll have a class together or something."

Morrighan returned his smile.

"Or something."

Except there were no 'maybes' about the matter. Theon had signed her up for almost every class the Sons were taking, ensuring that she would be sharing each of her classes with at least one Son. She'd be seeing them everyday. That was, if she could identify the others.

Morrighan watched as Tyler returned down the hall, disappearing round a corner. Steeling herself for the interview she knew was waiting for her beyond the double doors, the young Soul Reaper forced a pleasant smile on her face and tried to look as wide-eyed and overwhelmed as possible, like any other new student might. The blonde woman, very obviously a secretary, returned Morrighan's smile, though it looked more like a grimace on her, and waved the girl towards another door at the far end of the room, telling her that the Provost was expecting her. Morrighan crossed the room and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Provost Higgins was a man in his fifties with a head full of white hair and a receding hairline. He was wearing a tweed suit with a red pocket square, reminding Morrighan of a college professor she had once Reaped in Scotland in the early 1900s. The professor had been experimenting on his students in the belief that he could find a cure-all vaccine. The young men and women had all died painful and slow deaths. But all Morrighan sensed from the man in front of her was a tiredness that permeated his very bones.

"Please. Sit down," said the Provost as he flipped open a manila coloured folder. Morrighan sank into the simple wooden chair placed in front of the man's desk. "Morrighan Grosvenor. Any relation to the English Grosvenors?"

"None at all, sir. But I get that question all the time."

"Well, they are a rather prominent family," said Provost Higgins.

Morrighan thought the old man sounded almost wistful over her lack of pedigree. Not that she could blame him. The Grosvenor family were pretty much responsible for the development of the Mayfair district in London from an insignificant village to the infamously fashionable residential quarter that it was in the 1800s, before a series of events, including bombings during the Second World War, turned it into an expensive commercial district. And Mayfair was the priciest property on the British Monopoly set.

"According to your files your parents are currently in Abu Dhabi. Your maternal grandmother is a resident of Ipswich. Your grades are excellent and your record of extracurricular activities is rather impressive: cheerleading, math club, choir," Provost Higgins looked up from the folder. "Spenser Academy would be proud to have you among its student body."

"Thank you, sir."

Provost Higgins studied the girl sitting before him. With waves of dark hair cascading over her shoulders and eyes that were a shade closer to purple than they were to blue, Morrighan Grosvenor was an undoubtedly pretty girl. Her looks in combination with her obvious intelligence would get her far in the world. Yet there was something just a little…off about the teen. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Maybe it was her absent parents. In his experience, children who were forced to take care of themselves and who were uprooted often were not always stable emotionally. Maybe that was it.

"Will that be all, sir?"

Provost Higgins started, realising from the girl's cool look that he had been staring a little too long.

"Yes. Yes, that's all," said the man, surprised at just how flustered he was.

Morrighan nodded stiffly and rose from her seat. She was reaching for the doorknob when the Provost stopped her.

"I assume Mr. Simms showed you to your dormitory and helped you get settled in?"

Morrighan would have hardly called being dragged from a car to a dorm room to the Provost's office as helping her to settle down but she nodded anyway, wondering why the man was trying to stall her leaving. Provost Higgins nodded distractedly.

"Good. Good. He's a nice boy." The man looked down suddenly, clearing his throat as he unnecessarily busied himself with the papers on his desk. "You should stick close to him, Miss Grosvenor. He is rather popular amongst the other students. It may do you some good to get to know some other people before classes start on Monday."

Morrighan felt a smirk tug at the corners of her lips.

"Oh I intend to, sir. I plan to stick very close him."

The Provost snapped his head up, unnerved by something in the girl's voice. But she was already gone.

* * *

Kira Snider was not in their dorm room when Morrighan returned. Whoever had said girls were tidier than boys was a damned liar. Wrinkled clothes laid strewn across the floor, though Morrighan could see that not all of them belonged to Kira. She wondered how many of her roommate's fuck buddies she would have to put up with.

Distractedly kicking at the clothes on the floor to clear a path to her bed, Morrighan withdrew her cell phone from her back pocket and dialled the number she had been given earlier that day.

"Arty?"

"Hey pipsqueak! You having fun yet?" came the chirpy voice from the other end of the line.

"Is that supposed to be a trick question?"

Artemisia laughed her husky laugh that had turned many a man, mortal and immortal, into jelly. Morrighan heard the faint melody of a pop song in the background, muffled voices and the sharp ting of a cash register.

"Are you shopping?"

"I'm in the local Wal-Mart, kid. This is far from shopping."

It was Morrighan's turn to laugh. For a woman who was used to shopping in high-end boutiques like Yves Saint Laurent, Ferragamo and Versace, Morrighan could just imagine the look of disgust currently gracing Artemisia's face.

"So," said Artemisia, "Update me."

Morrighan flopped back onto her bare mattress as she recounted the relevant facts of her day. She could practically hear the grin in Artemisia's voice when she spoke again.

"A Son of Ipswich as your personal tour guide? This is going to be so easy."

"Don't count your chickens yet, Arty. You know the anti-detection spells on the others won't be lifted until they approach me themselves or Tyler introduces me. I could walk right by them and wouldn't even know it."

"Aw, pipsqueak! All you need to do is turn on the ole charm and that Simms boy won't even know what hit him."

Morrighan laughed harshly.

"Remind me again why I got chosen for this job? You're the seductress. Not me. I swear, Theon's getting touched in the head with old age."

Artemisia sounded like she was choking on her laughter.

"You better not let him hear you say that."

Morrighan sighed, running a hand through her hair. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking back on the car ride she'd shared with the youngest Son of Ipswich. Tyler had talked quite a bit about the history of Spenser Academy though Morrighan had not really paid much attention to a word he said. She had been focused instead on the raw power that surged from him, pounding against her senses. It wasn't as overwhelming as it had been during their initial meeting but Morrighan still had to exercise a lot of self-control not to attack the boy then and there. In fact, she was surprised he hadn't noticed how intently she had eyed him throughout the trip. Or maybe he had and had simply assumed that she was infatuated with him. Morrighan had to wonder how she would react at meeting the Sons who had already Ascended.

"Pipsqueak? Hello?"

Artemisia's tone of voice told Morrighan that the older woman had been trying to get her attention for some time now.

"Sorry. I was just thinking."

"Care to share?"

Morrighan exhaled forcefully.

"You know I'm far from patient, Arty. And with a Son of Ipswich _so close_ – I swear Theon's just trying to torture me."

"Now you're just being overdramatic, kid. But really, the amount of self-control you usually have could rival Theon's. So I'm guessing this Simms boy has some fucking powerful magic." Artemisia paused as if considering something. "Can you just imagine how amazing he must taste?"

"Not helping, Arty!"

"Sorry," the older Soul Reaper laughed. "But really, pipsqueak. Just imagine – "

"Arty!"

"Ok, ok! Change of subject: you kill your roommate yet?"

"Of course not. How suspicious would a student disappearing on the same day I arrive be?"

"Very suspicious. You see though? This is why Theon chose you. I would have killed my roommate the first chance I got."

Morrighan could not help but smile at that.

"You've got a point there, Arty."

"Of course I do. Anyway, Theon's found this awesome place for us. Reminds me a bit of the house we had in Turin. You remember Torino?" Even over the phone, Artemisia's voice sounded decidedly wistful.

"How could I forget? That city was just oozing with black magic back then."

"It was, wasn't it? Each night was like a Roman orgy. Why did we ever leave?"

"Because people were starting to get suspicious. Especially after you Reaped that nobleman's son."

"Oh right," Artemisia laughed unrepentantly. "He was surprisingly delicious that one."

"I wouldn't know," Morrighan grumbled. "You refused to share him."

"I was hungry!" came Artemisia's indignant response.

"Well I think that warrants me having one of the Sons all to myself."

"What? No! Morrighan!"

The young Soul Reaper smirked as she hung up on Artemisia's ardent protests. She knew how much it would have annoyed Artemisia, especially with her parting declaration. But it served the woman right for taunting her earlier.

Morrighan pushed herself off her bare mattress and cast her eyes around the dorm room again. Theon wanted her in the academy, close to the Sons, as much as possible. He also insisted that it would help her fit in with the other students better as most of them lived in the dorms as well. But at the moment, Morrighan couldn't help but feel that Theon must hate her in some way. Compared to the other places they had lived in previously, the dorm room was very much akin to a hole in the ground.

Sighing, Morrighan set to work unpacking her bags and making the bed she would not be spending much time sleeping in.

* * *

**And so the Sons have a brief introduction. But don't expect this to be an easy mission for Morrighan. There are many things about modern day teenagers she has yet to learn about.**

**Thank you for reading and please share the story with anyone you think might enjoy it. I always welcome new readers.**

**- Scribbles**


	3. Chapter II: Infinite Is The Number Of Fo

**A/N: So…interesting…The last chapter got over a 100 hits yet not one review. What a quiet fandom. Guess you aren't fans of Morrighan, huh? Pity, because I rather like her.**

**By the way, if any of your guys are fans of Sirius Black from the Harry Potter fandom, you might like to read my other story, "If I Can't Love Her". It's a monstrous one-shot that's been divided into six chapters.**

**Beta'd by the incredible Pastel Shades. Any mistakes are purely my own.**

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own the Sons. But I do own the idea/this version of a Soul Reaper. So please…DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Rated 'M' for excessive swearing, character death (none of the Sons, don't worry), SICK characters and possible blood and gore in future chapters.**

* * *

_Twilight_

A Tyler Simms Romance

_By Scribbles-Dementia_

* * *

Infinitus Est Numerus Stultorum

* * *

Monday morning dawned bright and early, cruelly mocking the inhabitants of Ipswich whom had been cooped up indoors throughout the bleak weekend. Most of Spenser Academy's students were still fast asleep in their warm beds, unaware of the amount of hostility directed towards them from one seemingly average teenager seated on the slated roof of the academy. Morrighan watched as the sun slowly rose over the horizon, its rays casting her angular features into sharp relief, revealing for just one instant the monster housed in the deceivingly delicate body.

The girl was scowling.

The rest of her Saturday had been dull and infuriating. The Snider girl had returned to their dorm room some time in the evening, just as Morrighan was halfway done unpacking her bags. She had been fused at the lips to a boy with one hand down her skirt and another up her shirt. They seemed not to notice her presence in the room and promptly fell into bed together, moaning deliriously. Morrighan briefly considered breaking the two of them up and throwing the boy out but eventually decided it would be a wasted effort as she would then be stuck in a small room with one very frustrated human girl, which would in turn lead to one very dead human girl if Kira were to take her anger out on her. Morrighan had instead made a hasty exit and spent the rest of her day getting a feel of her surroundings, feeling very much like a soldier in enemy territory. Not that she would have ever admitted to it.

Sunday had been no better. With the continual onslaught of rain, no one even seemed to consider venturing outside. Morrighan had attempted to track down the youngest Son of Ipswich and had quickly come to the very frustrating realisation that he was nowhere to be found on the school grounds. There was, however, one good thing that had come out of her fruitless search. Encountering numerous students who were curious about the 'new girl', it had been easy to extract information about the Sons out of them. She learned that two of them, the ones called Reid Garwin and Pogue Parry, resided on campus with Tyler, whilst the one called Caleb Danvers lived with his mother. Morrighan had found much amusement in this little titbit.

Not one to leave any stone unturned, Morrighan had also paid a visit to Nicky's, a place that she had been told was quite a popular hangout. But the unrelenting rain ensured that the bar was about as lively as a graveyard. Refusing to order anything, it was not long before the man behind the bar had kicked Morrighan out.

The young Soul Reaper could sense the first stirrings of the early risers below her and her scowl deepened. She was about to face her first day of school.

Morrighan got to her feet, shifted her weight slightly, and felt herself start to slide down the slate tiles of the roof. With her right foot behind her left to control her descent, much like how a skateboarder balanced on his board, Morrighan slid down at a reckless speed, a wild grin growing across her face. Directing herself between two dormer windows, she threw her weight back at the last minute, her left hand reaching out to grab the side of one of the windows, using it as a pivot to swing her through the opening she had used to gain access to the roof in the first place. There was a brief moment where Morrighan was suspended in the air with only her grip on the window frame preventing her from a fifty-foot drop. She landed soundlessly, the hallway in which the window was situated still deserted due to the early hour. Her smile lingered as she made her way back to her dorm room.

Kira was still sleeping, her long limbs hanging off her bed. A familiar, musty scent hung heavy in the room, telling Morrighan that her roommate hadn't spent the night alone. Resisting the urge to smother the girl with her pillow, Morrighan threw open the doors of the closet they shared, scowled at seeing that Kira had thrown half her clothes on the floor, and violently snatched up the uniform she was expected to wear.

There were many things the young Soul Reaper had done in the past to ensnare her prey. During the Spanish Inquisition, she had cloistered herself in a convent in order to Reap the abbess there who was murdering her charges under the pretext of rescuing them from eternal damnation. In the 17th century, she had posed as a young boy in the workshops of a Dutch painter, her apparent naivety appealing to his not-so-secret sexual preferences. And while they were in Paris in the 1900s, she had danced in Folies Bergère. Though Artemis had been the one who garnered the following of ardent admirers, she had been the one who managed to Reap their target, an aristocrat with a penchant for eating the hearts of young whores. Yet never had Morrighan detested any of those disguises as much as she hated the uniform she now wore.

The combination of a woollen vest and a blazer over a long sleeved shirt was one layer too many in Morrighan's opinion. The red tie was suffocating. The grey skirt was short and itchy. And the knee-high socks refused to stay up. In fact, her shoes were the only things Morrighan could stand about the Spenser Academy uniform, and these in themselves were boring and sensible. Forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths, Morrighan slung her schoolbag over her shoulders and exited the room, pausing only to reset Kira's alarm for another hour. However, even this petty act of spite failed to alleviate her sour mood.

What followed could only be described as the longest day of Morrighan's life.

Finding her first class wasn't an issue. Her Saturday night had been put to very good use indeed and Morrighan could now navigate her way through the academy grounds blindfolded. It was a skill that had come in handy on more than one occasion. Stepping into the lecture hall took a greater strength of will than Morrighan had expected. It was a History class so she hadn't really anticipated full attendance from the students. But according to Theon, the one called Caleb Danvers took the class, which was why Morrighan now settled herself in for a long, boring, and in her opinion, wasted morning. The teacher was already standing in front of the chalkboard writing out that lesson's topic – the War of the Roses. As Morrighan predicted, the room was barely half full when he called the class to order. She had hoped he would take attendance but apparently Spenser Academy had given up on making sure its students attended all their classes for he launched straight into the lesson, not even waiting for everyone to quieten down.

Morrighan honestly tried to pay attention. But after ten minutes of his monotonous drone and inaccurate facts – Theon had been a personal friend of the Earl of Warwick, had in fact fought in several of the battles, and so had been able to give both Artemisia and herself firsthand accounts of the English civil war – she too was following the example of her classmates, tuning the lecturer out and resting her head on top of her arms. Though, unlike everyone else, Morrighan was not returning to dreamland or texting friends in another class. She was scanning the lecture hall from her vantage point of the third to last row up.

Morrighan could feel the powerful magical presence in the room but the anti-detections spells over him prevented her from pinpointing the exact location of the Danvers boy. Her sharp eyes roved through row after row yet her searching proved fruitless. Frustrated and very bored, she flipped open her textbook and began to correct all the historical inaccuracies in it. There were still forty-five minutes left to the lesson when Morrighan was done. Pulling out a notebook from her book bag, the Soul Reaper began to draw rather graphic doodles of what she really would rather be doing. By the time the bell rang, signalling the end of first period, Morrighan had ran out of red ink.

The next class of the day was Math, a subject that Morrighan hated with a passion. She could plot and strategise with the best generals of any country or decade, but when it came to combining numbers with formulas, she couldn't make head or tail of it. Mathematics was simply something that didn't make sense in her head. Morrighan knew that Tyler and another Son, though she couldn't remember which one, was also taking that particular class, however, so she swallowed her distaste and prepared herself for another pointless lesson.

To her intense displeasure, the class had assigned seating and a stricter teacher than the one who taught History. Dragging herself to the seat she was directed to in the first row, next to an overweight boy with an unfortunate case of acne, Morrighan dumped her bag rather unceremoniously, and loudly, on the floor. She intently eyed the students still streaming through the open door, having determined that Tyler wasn't amongst those already in class.

"Hi! You're the new girl, right?" asked pimply teen in an annoying cheery tone.

"Uh huh," muttered Morrighan. Unfortunately, the boy was not one to be deterred by an unenthusiastic conversation partner.

"Thought so! I've never seen you in class before. And I kind of know everyone in class. Actually, I know everyone in school. Well, not personally, but if you want to know anything about anyone, I could probably tell you. I'm Kyle by the way. McKenzie. Kyle McKenzie."

Morrighan didn't even bother trying to hide the irritated frown on her face. Tendrils of ancient power reached out to her as the remaining students filed in, yet Morrighan still could not identify which of them was a Son. She was ready to start tearing her hair out when whatshisname spoke again.

"You know, usually when someone tells you their name, it's sort of polite to do the same." He looked at her expectantly. Morrighan spotted Tyler walk casually through the door just as the late bell rang. Her eyes followed him as he walked up the middle aisle of stairs to a seat in the second row. Apparently, this did not escape the attention of the human next to her. In fact, Morrighan was sure that very little escaped his attention. "You sure do aim high. Not that I blame you. Everyone's in love with them. The Sons of Ipswich, people call them. Their families founded the town or something. I suppose you have a pretty good chance though. I mean, it's not like you're ugly or anything and your accent definitely gives you an edge over the other girls here."

Morrighan tore her eyes away from the youngest Son and finally took a good look at the boy sitting next to her. His uniform seemed a little too tight for him; some of the buttons on his shirt had been resewn on several times. The belt he was wearing was notched through the very last hole and was completely unnecessary in Morrighan's opinion. His socks looked new though his shoes were scuffed. His dirty blonde hair was cut to within an inch of his scalp, and his green eyes shone bright and intelligent behind a pair of square framed glasses. Morrighan tried to ignore the fresh cluster of zits growing on his chin. All in all, Morrighan made note of the fact that this Kevin – Kael? Karl? Kent? – this person could possibly be a threat in the future, as unlikely as it seemed. The boy seemed to be someone who would remember if she did something odd or non-humanlike, and piece two and two together to come up with four. Morrighan mustered up the friendliest smile she could manage, interrupting the boy in the middle of his long listing of her attractive qualities.

"My name's Morrighan Grosvenor."

The human grinned, revealing braces.

"Grosvenor? Any relation to the British – "

"No," said Morrighan curtly, cutting him off again. Seeing that he was looking at her rather curiously, no doubt wondering at her shortness with him, she hurriedly searched her mind for an excuse. "I'm sorry, but Math isn't one of my strong points and I'd really like to try to listen to what Mr…erm…Mr…"

"Mr. Pennyworth?" the boy offered helpfully.

"Yes. To what Mr. Pennyworth's saying."

The blotchy faced teen smiled.

"No problem. Actually, you could use that as an excuse to get closer to Simms." That definitely got Morrighan's attention. "He doesn't look it, but the boy's like a Math whiz. How unfair is that, right? He's good looking, popular _and_ intelligent. Seriously, it's – "

"Kelvin – it is Kelvin, right?"

"Kyle, actually. Kyle McKenzie."

"Sorry. Kyle. No offence, but can you shut up?"

Kyle blushed.

"Oh right. Sorry. But, you know, just saying…you could ask Simms to tutor you or something."

"Thanks for the advice," said Morrighan with a forced smile. This didn't escape Kyle's notice. The smile he returned was sheepish and his spotty cheeks coloured again.

"Right. Shutting up now."

Kyle hadn't been lying though when he claimed that Tyler was a Math whiz. Morrighan watched as his hand flew up time and time again to volunteer answers to the problems Mr. Pennyworth had written on the board or to correct him when he wrote down an addition instead of a subtraction sign. The young Soul Reaper couldn't help but admire the boy's obvious talent with numbers. It was while Tyler was answering yet another question, this one involving vectors or something along those lines, when Morrighan felt it. Someone was watching her. Suppressing the urge to turn around, Morrighan bent her head to her notebook, scribbling down nonsensical number sequences.

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said Math wasn't your strong point," said Kyle, looking over her 'notes'. Morrighan was just about to snap at him when a thought occurred to her. Maybe she could turn having a nosy seatmate to her advantage.

"Kyle, could you do me a really big favour?"

Kyle's face immediately lit up and he flashed her a metallic grin, the reflection off his braces literally blinding her.

"Sure!"

"Could you take a look around the class and see if anyone's staring at me. You know, that feeling you get at the back of your neck when someone's looking at you? Yeah, it's really starting to creep me out."

Kyle was immediately casting his eyes around the room, overly eager yet, Morrighan noticed, surprisingly thorough. Yes, the boy was undoubtedly someone she needed to be wary of.

"Hmm…I think the better question would be who _isn't_ staring at you."

"What?" asked Morrighan, immediately regretting the question as she realised she was in for another long spiel.

"Well, I don't really blame them. Like I said, you're not bad looking. And you're the new kid. People are bound to be curious. Though there are one or two girls who are glaring at you rather than staring. There's Alex Barker, third row up. Harmless really. He's captain of the chess club. Typical sort of guy you'd expect to find in an AP Math class. Then there's Oliver Hartwell, one up and two across from Barker. He's got the most impressive stamp collection you'll ever see. Vivienne Cooper's the brunette who looks like she wants to push you into traffic. She usually looks quite pretty. Not so much though when her face's all twisted with jealousy like that. And that's because her boyfriend, the blonde next to her, Will Kensington, looks like he wants to literally eat you up. But he's always been a major creeper. Aaron Abbot's the one in the fifth row ogling your boobs. He and his girlfriend, Kira Snider, pretty much sleep with anything that breathes. Between the two of them, I'm sure they're a veritable Petri dish of venereal diseases. Second row – Mr. Tall, Dark and Oh-So-Intimidatingly-Handsome – that's Caleb Danvers, one of the Sons of Ipswich I was telling you about…"

But Morrighan had tuned Kyle out. Caleb Danvers? She spun around in her seat but, despite knowing that Kyle had pointed out exactly where the warlock was, she couldn't for the life of her pick the Danvers boy out from the other students in the class. Frowning, she immediately reflected back on what she might have done in her History class that would have tipped the Son off to her true identity. Surely drawing pictures of herself decapitating and disembowelling her classmates, and burning down the school was nothing out of the ordinary? According to what Artemisia had told her, all human adolescents were angst filled and bitter anyway. Maybe she had been staring a little too long at Tyler? She was saved from further worrying by the lunch bell.

Morrighan fumed as she viciously shoved her notebook back into her book bag. Never before had she been so unnerved by any witch or warlock. She was the one who induced nervousness and fear. Not the other way around. It was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she almost missed Kyle's question.

"So, where're you sitting for lunch?"

"In the cafeteria," replied Morrighan, wondering why the boy had asked her such a ridiculously obvious question.

Kyle laughed.

"Yeah, but _where_ are you sitting? Which table?"

Morrighan shrugged.

"Whatever table has a free seat I guess."

The human boy beamed at her, impulsively linking his arm through hers as he led her down center aisle of stairs, out through the door, and down the hall, towards the cafeteria. Morrighan ran through possible excuses, hiding places and disposal methods for Kyle's large body as she was dragged through the crowd, wondering what it was she had done that made the boy think that his enthusiasm or touch would be welcome.

"You can sit with us," said Kyle over the hubbub of the other students flooding the hallways. "The others will definitely want to meet you."

"Oh goody," said Morrighan dryly. She knew Kyle registered her tone of voice yet the boy appeared to ignore it, smiling at her much like how an affectionate relative would smile at a silly child.

It occurred to Morrighan much later that Artemisia might have omitted one or two important bits of information when debriefing her on what to expect from a typical American high school. For one thing, Arty never did explain the concept of the social hierarchy. One quick glance around the cafeteria when she entered it soon enlightened her though. She made a mental note to throttle the woman when she next saw her.

Giggling girls who looked like they had just stepped out of the pages of those magazines Artemisia was constantly reading, sat at tables surrounded by equally attractive boys who looked like they participated in every sport known to man. Students with multi-coloured hair sat amongst other students with multiple piercings in their lips, noses and ears. Those of a certain race sat with others of their ethnicity, jabbering away in their native tongue. It was painfully obvious to Morrighan that the boy hanging off her arm was as far from the top of the social ladder as it was possible to be. In fact, it was highly probable that he was not even a rung on that ladder.

Kyle led her to a table in the corner of the cafeteria near the bins where people emptied their lunch trays. There were already four others sitting there, three boys and one girl. Although they were of different shapes and sizes, Morrighan could sense the same air of – annoyingness? She couldn't quite name what it was – from them as she got off Kyle. She supposed the girl could be considered pretty for a human if she didn't hide herself behind her hair and wasn't so timid. A grid mat was laid out between them, covering a good portion of the tabletop. They seemed to be in the middle of a rather heated argument but all fell silent and stared in various states of curiosity and disbelief as the pair approached.

"Guys!" greeted Kyle. "This is Morrighan Grosvenor. She's in my Math class and she's new. So be nice!"

"I will if she will," mumbled one of the boys, but Morrighan's unnatural hearing picked out his words from the babble of the busy cafeteria as if he had shouted them into her ear.

"I promise I won't bite," said the young Soul Reaper with a positively feral grin, eyes gleaming as she took in the shocked faces of the boys before her and the blush that crept up the girl's neck. Kyle ignored all of this and carried on with the introductions.

"That's Frederick Bloom. We just call him Fred. Or Freddy. The gaping goldfish next to him is Jun Ki…Ker…actually none of us can pronounce his last name."

"Kirihara Jun," supplied the boy, somehow managing to do so with his mouth still hanging open.

"Right," said Kyle. "Jun Kiriwhatsit. That's Marshall Ackerman sitting opposite him. And last, but certainly, not least, Kitty Grant. It's actually Katherine Grant but someone came up with Kitty – for kitty cat, you know? – can't remember who, and it sort of just stuck."

Although Morrighan could feel some hostility emanating from the Bloom boy, she knew that they were all harmless and wondered how it was that she managed to saddle herself with such a sorry bunch of humans. They were the sort of people she usually had no patience for, weak and easily intimidated. But Kyle had already proven himself to be a positive fount of useful, and useless, information, and Morrighan was not yet ready to cut ties with him. If Theon had taught her anything it was that any little bit of information, no matter how insignificant could be used to their advantage in the long run. So Morrighan swallowed her pride and her disgust and sat down next to the girl called Kitty, offering the scared little thing a smile that she hoped was devoid of any sort of predatory qualities.

"Katherine. Kat. Kitty Kat. Cute," said Morrighan.

Kitty's lips twitched in a sad attempt at a smile but she quickly hid behind her curtain of hair again. Morrighan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sitting across from her was the Japanese boy, if her memory of languages served her correctly, no longer staring at her but muttering to himself about princesses in towers. The Bloom boy promptly whacked him in the back of the head and Morrighan was surprised when he retorted in Japanese; something about there being no princesses in the game. It was then that Morrighan realised that they had been in the middle of some sort of board game when she and Kyle interrupted them.

"All right! All right!" hollered Kyle with just the slightest hint of self-importance in his voice as Bloom and Ackerman bombarded him with complaints and demands. "I thought you guys were going to wait for me before starting. But whatever, right? So what's the problem? Oh wait! You ever played DnD before, Morrighan?"

"Erm…no."

Bloom sneered as if her ignorance of the game they were obviously so passionate about in some way lowered her IQ. Jun smiled empathetically. Ackerman cast her a wary look. Kitty simply stared at her from behind her mousy brown hair. Kyle, however, flashed her another metallic grin, his eyes glinting at the prospect of inducting a novice into their privileged circle of ardent players. The chubby boy had already noticed the stares their table were getting from the rest of the student body, which were puzzled and appraising instead of the usual mocking and hostile. Maybe having the attractive new girl hang around them would raise their popularity status and stop the bullying that he and his friends were often on the receiving end of. Kyle was not stupid. He was very much aware of the mechanics of high school politics. He knew there would be those who would use him and his friends just to get closer to the new girl. But if that meant that they ceased to be at the bottom of the food chain, Kyle was more than willing to use Morrighan for his own needs.

"Do you want to play?" Kyle enthused. "It's tons of fun and the rules really aren't that hard to grasp. I mean, look, Kitty's totally kicking all our butts." This immediate elicited a violent protest from Bloom, which Kyle conveniently pretended not to hear. "So what do you say?"

Morrighan was proud that she managed to keep her eyes from narrowing suspiciously. She could practically smell 'ulterior motive' exuding from the human boy and had to admit that she was slightly impressed. He hadn't seemed the sort who could remorselessly use somebody. How positively Machiavellian.

"Actually, do you mind if I just watch first?"

Kyle shrugged good-naturedly.

"Sure! Ok, Freddy, what's the – "

But an irritatingly snide voice cut him off. Morrighan didn't even bother suppressing her groan of exasperation.

"How adorable. It's nice to see you found other people you fit in with, Maud."

Morrighan schooled her expression to one of indifference. The redhead standing before her was attached at the hip to yet another boy, this one Morrighan vaguely recognised as the human male Kyle claimed to be her boyfriend. Morrighan was surprised to see that, although Kitty still hid behind her hair, staring intently at her hands in her lap, the others at the table were either glaring at or unmoved by the newcomers. In fact, the way Bloom's eyes bore into Kira and her boy toy, Morrighan could almost convince herself that the boy actually liked her. Ackerman was one of the ones glaring as well. Morrighan noted with interest how his dark skin flushed even darker as he mentally slaughtered Kira and the Other-Boy-Whose-Name-She-Couldn't-Remember. It was a look she was very familiar with.

"It's Morrighan," the young Soul Reaper corrected. "What do you want?"

"Bet you think it was funny. That little stunt you pulled with my alarm clock this morning," Kira glowered.

Morrighan smiled sweetly, noticing that, for once, it hardly took any effort at all.

"You were sleeping like an angel. With all your extracurricular activities, I thought you might need the rest. You certainly look like you do."

Jun choked on his laughter as he hid his face in his arms. Bloom shot her a reassessing look.

"Look," snarled Kira. "Here's the rules: you stay out of my way and my things and you don't get hurt, got it? Piss me off and I'll personally make sure that your stay in Spenser will be the most miserable, hellish experience you've ever had."

Morrighan's expression was unreadable as she slowly got to her feet. Though she was considerably shorter than the redhead, Kira found herself taking a step back when the dark haired girl stood herself toe to toe with her.

"Is that a threat…_roomie_?" said Morrighan quietly. Kira unconsciously took another step back, though the scowl on her face grew uglier. "Because, I have to say, it's not much of one." Morrighan smirked. "Been there, done that, and really, hell's kind of fun."

The boy next to Kira inhaled sharply, a clearly impressed and turned on look gracing his features. He wasn't exactly bad looking but Morrighan wasn't willing to touch anything that had been with Kira.

"Freak!" Kira hissed.

Morrighan saw her arm move before the girl's hand struck her hard in the shoulder but thought better of defending herself. For one thing, a normal teenage girl of her size would definitely come out the worse for wear in a fight with a girl of Kira's stature. And Morrighan would rather let the girl get a hit in once than pretend to lose a catfight just to save her cover. Satisfied that she had somehow made her point, whatever that was, Kira linked her arm through her boyfriend's and dragged him away from what she dubbed the 'loser table'. Morrighan turned back to see Kyle and his friends regarding her with renewed interest. When they continued to stare with badly concealed awe, Morrighan's patience finally snapped.

"What?" she barked.

Bloom returned to glaring at her. Ackerman and Jun ducked their heads embarrassedly. Kyle simply grinned at her. But it was Kitty who eventually spoke up, surprising everyone at the table.

"That was stupid."

"What?" repeated Morrighan, though her voice was now dangerously low. She noticed the penetrating look Kyle shot her at the change in her tone and belatedly regretted speaking at all. But, interestingly, Kitty was not cowed by Morrighan's response.

"You're new so you probably don't know. But Kira doesn't hand out empty threats. When she says something she usually means it. You shouldn't have ticked her off."

Morrighan caught Ackerman gazing at Kitty with concern in his eyes and it dawned on her that Kitty had probably experienced first hand the consequences of Kira Snider's wrath. No wonder Ackerman had glared so intensely at the redhead. Morrighan filed that little fact away for future use and cast a brilliant smile at the sorry group of misfits.

"Don't worry, Kitty Kat. I can take care of myself."

"Maybe," mumbled Kitty. "But who'll take care of us?"

* * *

Morrighan's last class of the day was Art. This was not held in a lecture hall but a long, rectangular classroom with reprints of black and white photographs covering the walls. A series of shelves with chicken wire drawers lined one end of the classroom whilst an obnoxiously large chalkboard occupied the other end. Mismatched cupboards and tables were pushed up against the remaining wall space, filled to overflowing with various miscellaneous art supplies. Everyone sat on tall stools at even taller square tables that were covered in all forms of graffiti. As with her other classes, the teacher, a flamboyantly dressed woman who took five minutes to answer the simplest questions, ignored the attendance list and launched straight into the lesson. They were covering abstract art that semester.

Morrighan knew that it was an art movement that had gained popularity in the past century or so but couldn't for the life of her understand the interest in it. How did splotches of paint over a white canvas constitute as art? How was a two by two, dyed piece of cloth hung on a wall in any way classified as art?

She was stabbing her paintbrush at the canvas before her when the wave of magic hit her unexpectedly. It was strong and sudden enough to make her nauseous and drown out her other senses. The voices around her became a wash of sound and her vision blurred. She gripped the edge of her stool tightly to prevent herself from falling off it. Theon hadn't mentioned that there would be a Son in her Art class. Actually, he said it was unlikely that there would be. So why did she feel like someone was trying to split open her head with a jackhammer? The magic was not only old and potent, but untamed as well. This was a Son who had no control over his powers. Or had no desire to control them.

Growling low in her throat, Morrighan felt her nails dig into the wooden seat of her stool and viciously brought up her paintbrush to stab at her canvas again. The magic was getting stronger. Her headache was agonising and it was taking all her self-control not to scream. Damn anti-detection spells. Damn warlock. The effects wouldn't be so bad if the bastard simply kept a rein on his powers. Fucking bloody hell…

Morrighan could sense someone sliding into the seat beside her. She fought for control over herself, almost doubling over in half, when a cool hand rested itself on her shoulder. And just as quickly as the nausea and headache had hit her, they were gone.

"You ok?"

Sitting next to her was a blonde boy who oozed casual gorgeousness. The top button of his shirt was undone and his school tie hung loose around his neck. His hair looked like he had ran his hand through it several times during the day and his blue eyes sparkled with more than the regular dose of teenage mischief. Morrighan could tell just by looking at him that he was the sort of boy who wouldn't give a girl the time of day unless they fulfilled certain 'requirements'. She silently thanked her inhuman genes for making her appealing to the opposite sex. He never would have approached her if she didn't look the way she did and she would still have been in excruciating pain.

"Um…yeah…It's just that I get these migraines sometimes," Morrighan lied, offering the boy a shy smile. As she expected, a smug grin spread over his lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted several of her female classmates admiring the blonde with undisguised appreciation; some even shooting her dirty looks.

"Yeah. Migraines really suck," said the boy intelligently. His hand still rested on her shoulder and he now slid it down her arm. Morrighan couldn't contain the shiver that overwhelmed her at the unintentional transference of magic, little tendrils of it tickling at her skin. His grin was now a full-blown, shit eating smirk. "You're the new girl everyone's talking about, aren't ya?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, that accent's kind of a dead give away. I'm Reid Garwin." He held out his hand. Morrighan hesitantly placed her hand in his and struggled not to roll her eyes as the boy lifted it to his lips, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. "And you are?"

"Morrighan Grosvenor."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

It took all her willpower not to gag. The boy may be ridiculously handsome but he really needed to work on his pickup lines. He was definitely not the sharpest Son. Yet even as she thought that, Morrighan noticed him observing her with a strange look on his face. Realising that she had not responded to his compliment, she quickly raked her brain for a plausible excuse.

"Sorry. Head's still a little foggy," Morrighan smiled apologetically.

The look on Reid's face turned sympathetic, though Morrighan could sense that it was not entirely sincere. He reached over to tuck her hair behind her ears and she shivered again. Morrighan frowned at her lack of control. She decided to change the subject.

"Do you always come in late for class?"

The warlock shrugged.

"Not always." And here he gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Sometimes I don't show up at all."

"Aren't you just a regular rebel," Morrighan laughed, feeling like ripping out her tongue even as the words spilled from her mouth. Reid bowed his head in acknowledgement. "It's not exactly a trait to be proud of, you know."

"Au contraire. It's a skill I've perfected over the years and is something to be very, very proud of." Morrighan assumed that such a statement called for some sort of reply and so offered him a senseless giggle, which he lapped up. "You're really cute," he blurted.

"Oh? Just cute?" Morrighan asked quietly, lowering her eyes.

The smirk was back on his face.

"Maybe more than just cute." He cast his gaze down to her canvas and the brush that laid next to it, quirking an eyebrow. "Violent too."

"Migraine," said Morrighan quickly. A little too quickly but the Garwin boy seemed not to notice.

"Right. That's cool though. I can totally do violent."

Morrighan wanted so badly to bang her head against the table but collected herself enough to smile charmingly. She was quickly running out of imbecilic things to say and, not for the first time, wished that she had the innate flirting skills Artemisia possessed. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for her, the teacher chose that particular moment to approach their table and spent the next half hour deconstructing her 'painting' and psychoanalysing her state of mind. Reid appeared to enjoy her very obvious anger and discomfort though, especially when the woman theorised that Morrighan was suffering from a repressed sexual identity crisis, which explained the violence in her 'art'. At some point the insufferable human shoved Morrighan's paintbrush back into her hand and gave her tips on how to improve her work. The young Soul Reaper did nothing to hide her scowl. A sharp crack signalled when the poor brush finally snapped in her hand.

The teacher frowned disapprovingly. Reid looked at her in surprise, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. But before either could say a word, the bell rang, and the class was suddenly a flurry of activity as the other students hurried out of the room. This seemed to sufficiently distract the woman, yet Morrighan noticed how Reid continued to regard her thoughtfully even while he gathered his things. Thinking quickly, she buried her face in her hands and massaged her temples with her thumbs.

"My head hurts," she whined pathetically. This seemed to be the right thing to say for, the very next moment, Reid's arm was around her shoulders. "She just wouldn't shut up!"

"Poor baby," said Reid with a smug grin on his face. "Here. Lemme kiss it all better."

He didn't wait for her approval but bent down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. The young Soul Reaper felt a surge of pride and for a moment wished that Artemisia could have witnessed what had just transpired. She smiled up at him and his grin took on an even more hedonistic quality.

"Let's get outta here."

They walked out of the classroom together into a hallway bursting at the seams with students from other classes pushing and shoving their way towards the exit. Morrighan had to swallow the bile threatening to rise in her throat. They were barely two feet out the door when a familiar voice called out to Reid. Tyler was approaching them, the crowd parting for him much like the Red Sea did for Moses. Morrighan had to admit to being impressed at the amount of power the Sons had over the student body of Spenser Academy. Tyler smiled as he reached them.

"Hi, Morrighan. How's your first day?" he asked politely.

Morrighan noticed how his eyes shifted from her to Reid and back again and realised that the blonde still had his arm around her shoulder. She shrugged, which Reid took as a sign to remove his arm.

"Ok, I suppose. You know how first days are."

Tyler nodded understandingly and smiled again, though this time his eyes shone with amusement.

"I heard you picked a fight with Kira during lunch today."

"I wouldn't exactly say I picked a fight with her. She threatened me first."

Reid, who'd been pulling at the strap of his messenger bag impatiently, suddenly turned to Morrighan, a look of recognition and genuine interest on his face.

"That was you? I heard it was someone at the loser table."

"Yeah it was me," said Morrighan, her tone of voice challenging him to mock her for sitting with 'losers'. But Reid did no such thing.

"According to the rumours, you apparently bitch slapped her and threatened her with some demonic spell or something."

"Wow," Morrighan breathed. "You people must be very bored if you're making up ridiculous stories like that."

Reid shrugged, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Well, you _were_ hanging out with the DnD weirdoes. Not really the best thing for your rep here."

"I have a rep here?"

Tyler looked at her curiously.

"I guess schools must be really different in Australia. Your reputation is everything here."

"Shut up, Baby Boy. It's refreshing to have a girl not care about her reputation," said Reid, as his eyes gave Morrighan the once over.

Tyler's cheeks coloured and Morrighan quirked a brow at the nickname but said nothing. The smile he gave her when he realised she wasn't about to tease him about it could only be described as thankful. Tyler's gratitude also seemed to inspire an idea, which he did not hesitate to voice.

"Why don't you sit with us at lunch tomorrow, Morrighan? You can meet the rest of the guys. And I'm sure Sarah and Kate would love another girl to talk to."

Morrighan rejoiced inside her head. Bloody hell yes she'd sit with them tomorrow! She'd go through the entire day of brain numbing chatter a hundred times over again if it meant she'd be sitting at the same lunch table with all four Sons of Ipswich tomorrow.

"Great idea, Baby Boy," smirked Reid. "So what d'you say? Lunch? Tomorrow? Get to know some _normal_ people."

Morrighan flashed the warlocks a toothy grin.

"I say…it's a date."

* * *

**Hope you guys liked the chapter! Feel free to message me if you have any questions about the plot or characters that confuse you.**

**Thank you for reading and please share the story with anyone you think might enjoy it. I always welcome new readers.**

**- Scribbles**


	4. Author's Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I'm sorry but I have to put this on hiatus for a while. Please refer to my profile page for the explanation. Thanks for understanding.

Love,

Scribbles


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